Dear Diary,
The skies are tearing softly to in an attempt to cleanse my side of the world. There is quiet here. And that says a lot. It is never quite here. The present brood are sleeping away their tiredness in the next room and the youngest is away to face the knife tonight.
To be a man they say. He must pay homage to his forefathers, they insist. And being that I have to let them, I did. But. There might be quite but calm is unheard of here.
Partially because...
The mother in me is bleeding in silence. She is doing her best to divert her attention from what her child is going through as we speak. This is the part of her own traditions that she hates secretly. Her identity has refused to identify the why it must be done.
And as she is fully aware that there is literally nothing she can pull off for tonight to go down differently, her soul will be in intercession for the next few days. And this right here, might end up being the longest of the coming nights. He has never left home.
Calm could also have been dissolved by the excitement bouncing off my energy today. Aside from the significance of what my boy is going through being an achievement I can proudly claim as an African mother, today was the most beautiful lesson in a while and I am so humbled by it all.
So yes, tonight I am dancing with some bittersweet moods. There is this indescribable pain humming in the background reaching out for the same hand this uncontainable warmth wants to cuddle. Its sad that I have to run back and forth between them both.
But.
These are my confessions...
The most positive effect the act of sliding in and out of a depressive state has one me is this uncontrollable way of performing a cleansing ritual whereas I am relieved of my expectations. These grey tides rock my shores and drag each and every one of them back to the deep. There they are stripped from me by my inner man while reminding me that no one owes me shit. This leaves me vulnerable to whatever disappointment life can slingshoot my way.
Asking for help is this uncomfortable task that is always met by resistance. You are allowed to call it pride but before you do you should also know that I have been denied help often enough to make admitting the need to helped strenuous. The tongue quickly acquires weight and the fingers suddenly grow fat. Words therefore refuse to leave my constricted throat and the keyboard gathers dust as it waits for the fingers to go on a diet.
Managing to then ask and get help with zero expectations is an otherworldly bliss. It is embodies the lesson that humanity has always been choice regardless. Today was made whole and possible because another soul decided to humanize mine. And that for me is everything.
Beaming and revitalised...
So. Even as a piece of my own is being shred, I am choosing to recognise the good energy hovering over my spirit right now for my soul's safe keeping. If you can, do send some more warmth and light this way. I am ready... opens arms!
wambuku w.
